


Hues Of Old

by deathly_smirk



Category: True Blood
Genre: F/M, Rating: M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathly_smirk/pseuds/deathly_smirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Godric is about to commit suicide. His memories are a work of wonder, contain nameless victims. Fate gave one of them an identity, but what does this mean in the end for Godric? Is forgiveness needed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Godric would have laughed for the sheer power of melodramatic tragedy his moments had become but he suppressed it. What was the little echo of sadness compared to the insanity of euphoria? A little price to pay._
> 
> ~~~

Even as a Roman adolescent he loved the spilling of blood. The taste of the sweet nectar never passed his lips as a mortal but the mere sight of it had set his senses on fire. He'd watched as those who dared to take it, spill it or even use it were worshipped as gods in many forms.

No more so than a savage gladiator.

God yes.

Godric stared at the creeping sun.

Gladiators were revered by all those he knew, their courage, their ferocity, skills..

A memory flew in silently.

Roars of a half-crazed crowd, the howls of falling gladiators, the clanging of swords all filled his ears, but the vampire did not flinch even once. The memory did not frighten him nor made him reminiscence.

What good would that have done?

Here he stood, a vampire so old, memories such as the one he's just experienced no longer contained details but foreign and buried sentiments.

What could he have done if he could not remember why his actions were as such?

Godric blinked slowly as his eyes saw colours of a distant land. The land of the living.

Perhaps, he should have felt something other than relief. The sun that was rising to meet him meant he was not crazy.

It brought life.

It meant that Roman Godric in his vampire self was not wrong. All these years that he saw things they were just different. Everything could exist in paradox, after all did not the presence of the weeping Sookie tell him thus?

Blood and death, blood and life, the sun and life, the sun and his death it was all possible. It was like an improbable miracle. Even with all that he had seen how could he have hoped to understand this? He couldn't. Somewhere though this message had awakened inside him and here he stood burning to death.

Godric would have laughed for the sheer power of melodramatic tragedy his moments had become but he suppressed it. What was the little echo of sadness compared to the insanity of euphoria? A little price to pay.

The flames rose higher upon the skin.  
Every inch that flayed away took a decade of whispered tales with it.

He didn't mind even if he did care.  
For he, Godric, he was graced by staring at the face of God.  
After all, wouldn't his naive self ripped Sookie to test the faery part of her coursing in her veins?  
Yes he would have.

But now..he knew better.  
He'd seen the mercy of God before him..he was seeing for the very first time. Something that he knew his younger counterparts could not fathom. They couldn't see through the familiarity of this world, the wrong emotions the increased temptations from their old lives. They were stuck here.

Godric closed his eyes slowly, something twinging at his heart.

Poor Eric.  
His poor, poor Eric.

_'If only I taught you to accept your existence beyond your means.'_

The jaw tightened.

_'You will come when you are ready child. You will also see.'_  
This world..it stopped them. From true salvation. No, they didn't belong here - they should have never have been here.

But yes, they were here.

And yes, they had stopped others.

They the vampires, always interfering, always spreading hate and opening poison into the waters of life. Always taking life, chances..

Godric himself had done this.

This time the memories came with deafening sound as though his senses were heightened beyond comprehension - the faces, the fear..their terror. He remembered it all. He drank it all.

Slowly, he opened his eyes as though questioning the higher authority. Was he now being punished?

No he couldn't be.

Look how the flames had turned that stark blue!

The same blue as..her eyes.

A ghost of a smile appeared as his arms flung open as to embrace her from the past.

How fitting was this, that he should remember her in the end?

And burn in her fire.

As he rose higher, his memories did not fail him.

**

_{After the fall of the Roman Empire, somewhere in the Dark Ages}_

Somewhere between the centuries Godric liked to think he'd lost track of his age for shallow purposes. After all, who was counting at all? Except Eric of course. But then again, his need to remind Godric was stemed in the maker-worship ritual. The quirk did not particularly annoy him but it reminded him of the little advancement of the vampire kind.

They may have been the predators of the human species still, but the vampires could no longer predict where the humans would retreat to. There were new tricks being invented, (and this was) one of the reasons Godric told himself that he had allowed Eric the freedom to explore the untouched lands for a while. His training may not have been complete..but the maker knew that Eric's instincts were far better than some of the older vampires in the community. Of course, now that Eric was gone..he'd found himself with some free time on his hands. The idea of another progeny whilst the blonde Viking vampire was gone; was absent fleeting, as conflict in his presence was even though amusing would grow tiresome.

No.

Godric thought to return to the battlefield.

The one place that he dreamt of dying..the one place honor was a permanent guest. There had been little action so to speak, in his human days. Instead, he was asked to prance around in purple robes expected to give a fuck about diseased commoners. Although the notion of telling them all that nobody in the villas knew nor cared of the mundane 'issues' they had - Godric was expected like a good Roman boy expected to deceive.

So he did.

But now..there was no one, no one to orate at him for his yearning. He had admittedly snatched at the chances of a good war over the years, but the hunger, to return was stronger than ever.

He had convinced himself that the longer he waited the more delicious would the victory would taste.

The trick was to subdue yourself long enough so when the heat of battle touched you the senses would send the warrior half-mad with blood-lust. It was simply heavenly. Godric had been known to rip through entire legions on his own, only slowing to pick out the parts of bone, hair and even occasionally teeth from his mouth. Less than elegant, but the gods of warfare didn't ask for feminine class. Hmpf. If they existed at all. No. Some power just wanted him to get the job done, to eat his fill. Life was good. The pay was good.

Admittedly, it was oddly satisfying to watch men of great heights shake before his stature, almost leaning into their armor for support. He'd watched it for countless generations now. Returning, only to watch the physical features appear in the successors many years down the line. It was an unrivaled content on his part to see such immortality in the eyes of mortals.

Somewhere though, he became too sure of himself. Somehow, he'd become too comfortable.

He forgot.

Humans weren't mindless all the time. There were some whose grunting and growling actually formed linear thoughts in primitive minds. They advanced, and thought, clearly believing in so-called equality. They really believed in their own words.

What fools, he would have said if he had known.

They had thought of conspiring against him. Not thought. Had conspired against him. The fools went and allied themselves with the crudest of scavengers. Lame vampires, begrudging werewolves, and ageing faeries. Yes. They were all there. For his downfall.

To see him to his end.

Godric was perhaps a little flattered. Was he so much of a scourge that they had plotted to their wits' end?

Was he so frightening, so much of a heinous creature?

As the shock of the assaults from his former followers hit his body, the answers to his questions also did so. The ancient vampire couldn't help but smile.

What was the way of the world!

Continuously breaking down the ones they feared.

Fear, yes.

What a powerful emotion. He had seen emperors fall victim to it. Stabbed, decapitated, poisoned..all painful. Fear, had took them all.

But as Godric lay his body half bare to the mercy of the sun full of silver..he swore in his semi-conscious state, he would never let himself go out that way. He'd never let himself burn.

No creature alive or dead, would send him into the mouth of the True Death.

He'd conquer them all with the iron-grip that was fear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Godric paused only, when he felt the unrelenting rays of sun lighten on his neck and back. He was no fool, he knew he was burning._
> 
> ~~~

He had taken enough blood from them to last a while.

It was because of his consumption that even through his bemused state that he was able to escape. Run, was the right term, he'd later sneer to himself.

With his blood red fangs and his curses he would have seemed no less than a barbaric berzeker to them all. But Godric, ever theatrical continued to surprise his enemies.

Instead of running headlong into their open (and silvered) arms, he turned instead back into the throng of his former associates and began swiftly cutting down anyone in his path.

The camp was in an uproar made worse by the fact that Godric, somehow, ran rings around them, quite literally, to daze them or taunt them, before making sense of his own direction.

Ducking between foliage and rubble like a commoner, the vampire was forced to accept his weakness. Even a man of great means was a slave to the pitfalls of fate or such. If he had foreseen this, maybe he would've remembered to pack a faery or two for the heat and the sunburn.

Perhaps, it was for the best though.

After all, he needed to know he wasn't totally invincible. Tactics needed to be re-evaluated, as new battle lines had been drawn.

Godric stopped for a millisecond as he re-evaluated his options. It was either fleeing to fight another day or totally annihilate the wolf pack that was encircling him now. He did both.

Grabbing the youthful unturned one, he snapped his neck cleanly to reveal the red elixir.

It was all over in a few moments. Having drank deeply from the shuddering boy and discarded his body into the clearing of the woods. Sure enough, the action was met by howling of his family within seconds. The scent of death bloomed into air, but it didn't matter to Godric. For he left it, at his heels .

Godric paused only, when he felt the unrelenting rays of sun lighten on his neck and back. He was no fool, he knew he was burning. His skin, his authority, everything that he possibly was, appeared to be flying up towards the heavens. But he said nothing. His lips, his maker instinct stayed silent.

Why should he call Eric? So he could see him weak and dying? No. Weakness was the state that no maker should show his protégé. Godric paused, glancing up at the sky through red raw eyelids and moss green leaves.

The gods knew he trusted Eric, more than he had ever trusted any other. After all, had the Viking not proved his worth? Of course he had.

But this is a matter of honour he mused, starting to speed not too gracefully out of the moist and blazing forest. He stopped to recess only for a few moments next to what seemed like a large white boulder.

Desperate as he was, his trapped mind began to piece together his location.

He was by some grace now on the white cliffs. Godric smiled thinly, and began to take a brief walk over to the unusually quiet cliff. He knew what he had to do.

_'Survive like a Roman. Always a Roman, '_ was his last thought before he jumped off the cliff into the depths below.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But fear gripped Hulda, each time Eydís stepped outside the comfort of their hearth and into the woods. Visions of the girl bloodied and violated always entered the mind until she would see her again._
> 
> ~~~

  
Time. It was just a word to a being like Godric. To vampires, it felt like an inconvenience, something to watch from the throws of immortality. When faced with the True Death though, how quickly did the undead flee back to this inconvenience, as a saviour!

Godric may not have made any such gesture but he certainly wanted Time to stop taunting and escaping him. The waves that carried him and threw him such distances certainly had a less of a bemusing effect.

With a weary head he had opened his eyes, knowing and feeling dusk having occurred. The shores were deserted as expected. People rarely wandered out so far from their homes without the light. Rival clans, wild animals were just a few of the small surprises waiting for them in the dark.

Godric lifted his hand to shield his eyes and glanced inland. Trees. So many of them. If he had to say where he was..most likely it would have been Germania. It certainly had not changed since last he was here - trust the barbaric sons to be afraid of divine retribution over trees. Still, he was grateful for the small relief the shade would provide.

He ran through them, too fast for the human eyes to see, pausing only in a clearing. He needed sleep. His body was healing, but to fully comprehend his survival against his enemies - who were most likely would be on his scent (eventually), he needed to rest.

The night was not fully here however, but each minute was welcomed, the wind blowing through the trees being a nice touch, aiding the search for shelter. Shelter! The word and its meaning suddenly registered and Godric almost moaned in his slowness. Of course, he needed to move more inland; to go underground, or more preferably a cave of sorts. Gods, knew he would need his ear to the outside world - as the barbarians would start their scavenging probably at the earliest light; following game just about anywhere.

Vampire senses already sharpening, Godric glanced at the woodland floor. Yes, he could clearly see that the humans had regularly run through here - but the path on the right was minutely more trodden on. Surely, there were expert hunters here, those who had tread this path in a pattern. Godric smiled. It would seem he would be following the game to the left then. He could not afford an encounter with the natives. Not as of yet. He needed to know of them, likely they might have wolves amongst them and he was no mood for another battle. He growled slowly. Not yet anyway. The wolves on his heels would be restless until they caught him. Having no disadvantage of the night or day, they would make it here in a matter of days if not sooner. After all, dogs were never afraid of water, were they?

He clenched his jaw slightly, everything seemed close. He must have a plan - one preferably that included some blood even if it be animal blood.

He pushed his way through, every ungraceful step increasing the pangs of hunger. On the edge of revealing his true nature, Godric listened for signs of animals. The birds in the trees were quieter, the smaller creatures were running to their abodes but the game was no where to be found -

Snap.

It was a minute movement but Godric pounced with the ferocity of a lion on his helpless prey. Torn between thirst and urgenency, he was almost blind to his own movements snapping and drinking like mad man. 

The act over Godric wiped his mouth, much dissatisfied. What could be done? The baser desires always wanted more and sometimes the baser desires were a hindrance to survival.

And then just as the suddenness of his attack, he was on the move again, in his hand his prize swaying with every step.

It would be waste and foolish to have left the creature, the humans were not swift with conclusions but even they would not turn a blind eye to dead meat in their hunting lands. No. It was better this way.

With new vigor, Godric continued inland - faster than before, following his instinct towards rockier paths. Memory starting to return, he let them lead him and sure enough his eyes fell on the coveted hill that he'd been seeking.

Godric smiled toothily for the first time in days.

***

_{Earlier in the day}_

"Ouch, not so hard Hulda."

"If you sat still child..there would be no need for this pain."

"But.."

"No."

Hulda, the accepted matron of the village, with the tongue that would cower grown men, was struggling to not scold her child. Oh yes, Hulda knew. She knew the moment her eyes fell on her all those years ago that this girl would cause trouble - beauty always did. And sure enough, as the seasons passed the woman emerged. A woman, but not yet a woman, one who whose attachment had increased with passing year to her until finally she would ask for her hair to be braided every morning almost babe-like.

"I don't know what will become of you Eydís," she said more softly this time. "You are not a child, any longer."

"I know Hulda, but I prefer it when you braid my hair."

"You know perfectly well, that is not my meaning."

Eydís stayed quiet, choosing Hulda thought, wisely to not respond. 

Shooing her away from the floor and her meal, the older woman shuffled after her before the girl could skip away.

"Eydís."

"Hm?"

The girl turned towards her, already impatient.

"Be careful. "

A laugh.

"I always am."

And then she was gone.

Hulda wrung her cloak in her hands, silently struggling with her thoughts. She was such a child. Such an innocent, surrounded those who would not willingly harm her, but were after all men. Shaking her head slightly the older woman gathered the vessels for washing, growing increasingly troubled.

She had many a thought to restrict her daughter but she was so strong-willed, that any warning from her behalf would not last. Eydís was too accustomed to the freedom of the outdoors, the hills, caves and gods only knows what else. She was a good child and no doubt she was protected by her husband to be.

But fear gripped Hulda, each time Eydís stepped outside the comfort of their hearth and into the woods. Visions of the girl bloodied and violated always entered the mind until she would see her again. 

For good reason too. 

Hulda's own experience - her first with men, was with her husband. Little more than an a child, he'd thrown her to the ground outside the temple and taken her virtue. It was painful, humiliating but mostly agonising for the spirit. Hulda knew that he had regretted it for as long as he had lived. Truthfully, he had treated her kindly because of it, but in her heart she knew she could never love him. 

And she never did.

Her virtue was hers to give, and it had not been willingly given.

If anything of this nature would happen to Eydís it would kill her and her spirit. Hulda was only able to face the oncoming calamity because she had seen the suffering of others in the temple, the evil of men and war. She had begun to steel herself against it, the possible outcomes of clans turning on each other and their gods. 

Her naive, youthful prayer for strength in the conflict had then been answered in the most cruellest way. 

Hulda looked to the sky, only seeing the roof, but imagining the gods so pleased with themselves. It was true that she had lost her faith years ago, but oh! were the gods still needed from time to time.

Her gods didn't need her as much as she needed them. After all, they had Eydís.

But the mother in her, bowed her head for a silent prayer, anyway.

 

***

Eydís pushed through the clearing, alert and listening. She had the baby pup Hulda acquired for her, (from the village) and both of them had ran off before the rest of the village had even had their first meal.

Eydís did not dislike the people in the village - they were as of one family, but she had found whilst listening out of sight just that they talked so wretched. Of her, Hulda and anybody they believed might be associated with them. It distressed Hulda and it did hurt her too, so she vowed not to cross paths with them.

Although that was unlikely. Especially as one incident proved.

She shivered, even though her face and neck began to feel warm.

The thought of that night, still made her hurt all over. She had never been so frightened in her life, a feeling which followed her in her dreams still. 

If it had not been for Almar she wouldn't have Hulda anymore.

Hulda had disapproved once her daughter had told her what she had done, but as Eydís had replied, would have had no one if Hulda would have been killed.

The gods and her betrothed had been kind to her, she had returned late from her hiding place that night, with most of the village asleep. Her own unintentional slumber made the hour late. Fearful, of Hulda's anger, she crept through the village, slowly, without a sound and prayed Hulda would not see her coming through the trees.

What she saw made her still as stone.

There at her door were two men. 

They hadn't looked liked they were from the village. They must've been traders, she had thought at the time. The kind that Hulda had always told her to hide from, in her special hiding place.

Eydís shivered again, as she walked, the memories became clearer than ever.

She had hid quietly, hoping she had not been seen. They were laughing she thought, their voices loud enough to dismiss a singular noise.

Pausing for a few moments, she had made not dared to take even a single breath least she was found.

As quietly as she could, she carefully passed underneath the shadow of Gorm's hut. Since it was the most nearest to home and the trees, that was easy. 

On the other side, she had ran on the muddy path until she was nearer to the other huts. In the dark she gave no heed least she would be shot, thoughts of Hulda filling her mind. Upon finding Vidar's home she had almost cried out in happiness. 

Setting her fists to the door, she had not cared if the whole village were to wake.

Vidar had opened it, sword in hand. He seemed startled and she didn't know how, but he seemed to know her.

"What is it, child?"

"Men. I do not know where Hulda is.." 

The incoherency of her statement would later make her ashamed, but thankfully he understood. Calling his wife over his shoulder he looked squarely at her as though to make her understand.

"Eydís, you will remain here with my wife."

Standing aside, he let her past. Dazed and confused Eydís ran into the arms of his wife, who arms outstretched, wrapped her tightly in a cloak.

"Everything will be fine, child. Don't fret," she had soothed.

Eydís frightened as the strangeness of the place, people and the situation had just allowed herself to be held and closed her eyes on the point of tears.

It was a few moments later that she realised that someone else was watching her.

Opening her eyes, she had peered over the strange lady's shoulder, and caught sight of him.

It was a man. 

He was staring at her, as though unsure of what had occured and unaware that he was wearing little in company. Not certain why, Eydís blushed and looked away, suddely more uncomfortable at the man's lack of clothes and conduct more than anything else.

She was a stranger in his house and yet he had no shame.

Thank the gods, his father had returned to order him to wake the other side of the village as they would not wait a minute longer. 

"Bring Ulf," he had said.

Ulf she had discovered, was the family dog, a furry and ferocious looking beast who had only left after sniffing at her skirts.

"Sit down here, Eydís." Vidar's wife had led her to a corner of a hearth, and made her sit once the men had left.

Eydís remebered well the stillness of the situation, the way Vidar's wife refused to look her in the eyes as though, she would see something she would dislike. She also remembered her own sniffling as she saw images of Hulda's face.

And the little puppy!

Eydís glanced down suddenly at her feet as the brother of her first puppy, played around her. She had lost Borgi that night too. 

When the strange man's father had returned they had Hulda in their arms. Barely concious, she had been beaten within an inch of her life. Her mother, had smiled weakly and touched her hand as to reassure her. Eydís clutched back, grateful for Hulda was aware of where she was. 

They had stayed like that even when Oda, Vidar's wife, had sat down and began washing her cuts. Eydís a credit to Hulda, did not cry but instead blinked back her tears.

It was not until Ulf came with Borgi in his mouth that she burst into tears.

Looking back at her conduct now, Eydís was ashamed. She had embarrassed herself and Hulda but the sight of her friend, her only one; broken and lifeless had made her weak.

She had fallen asleep only when Hulda promised to bury Borgi and Ulf had come lay next to her, for warmth.

***

Almar sat up groaning.

It felt like some one had taken a war hammer and tried to break his bones. Slowly, rising out of his slumber he made his way to the corner of the hut, poured cold water on his face and looked for Ulf.

Before he could call him however, his mother came in with the firewood; ready and able it seemed, to give him a tongue lashing.

But one look at him and surprisingly she refrained.

"The meal is in the pot," she announced and dropped the firewood next to it.  
"Your father is waiting also."

Almar groaned for the second time that morn, almost leaping towards the pot as he did so. He needed to hasten or he would never hear the end of his father's words.

Sitting, he began to eat quite ferociously, unable to speare his mother even a glance.

She sat watching him, however.

She was proud of him. He was a warrior, a good son and someday the gods willing, he would make a fine husband and father. 

But now she knew he had been touched by an ailment that woud drive out such thoughts.

Eydís.

He had seen the girl.

The girl that many men-folk of the village would give their sword hands for - just for a glimpse.

It had been many seasons when she herself had seen her, and when she did..she saw beauty. A beauty that that was dangerous for all. It had almost seemed like a dream when Eydís had appeared at their door in the night.

A vision unlike any other, that it had taken her senses a moment to adjust to the girl's presence. 

But they had taken her in regardless of the consequences, and she, Oda, especially had been fearful of the consequence of it.

After all, her son's expression that night, had mirrored her own.

Each day, she looked for signs of the girl being on her son's mind. After all, she suspected that he had lain with enough women to know, that Eydís was different. She was different to the loose women he had bedded.

There was none like her. And to a man there was nothing worth more acquiring. 

Watching her son, she had been careful not to make him suspicious of her intentions, but he was no fool either. Almar had gone about his work, hunting, laughing and drinking as though nothing had happened. A mother's instinct could always tell though.

She was proven right many nights past when she arose for water.

There he lay groaning. At first, the mother in her thought he was in pain. She had approached him quietly but drew back in equal shame and surprise when had groaned again.

Having been in a union with her husband (for countless seasons), she knew well habits of men. This particular habit had the intensity of waking warriors from their slumber and filling women with their seed.

It was an image she had prayed the gods would never show her because she knew the cause.

Sure enough, he had steadily said the girl's name sweating under the intensity of what he was seeing. She had watched in increasing guilt and fascination as he almost seemed to tear his wolfskin with his hands. And then he was silent.

Moving away and laying next to her husband; Oda couldn't recall an instance where she had begun to feel such sickening fear and fury. She knew her son would love Eydís, and she him but her betrothal meant it was not possible.

Looking at her son again now, the mother in her felt a sense of pride. He was a honourable man like his father. A good man. A lesser, weaker man would have found Eydís and taken her virtue, making her his. But her son had not, would not.

She watched as he rose, took his sword and left.

The gods were cruel it was true, but they had not failed her yet.

"Gods have mercy on us all," she muttered lifting the now empty pot off the hearth.


End file.
